


Out of Order

by AquamarineMelody



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Other, Rated T for swearing, Sibling Love, This Is STUPID, baizli is sleep deprived, just to clarify, not the incesty kind though, this was way funnier in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquamarineMelody/pseuds/AquamarineMelody
Summary: What do you do when your recuperacoon starts leaking? You use splaysacs, of course! Unfortunately, this is easier said than done for some.





	Out of Order

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is stupid. Just warning you. It was way better in my head but I wrote it anyway. Why? I wanted more content of these two, so I made it myself. Also, if any of you start calling this shippy I will personally fight you. I don't think I've actually seen anyone who does ship them, but I'm getting in first.

You lay sprawled out on your yellow splaysac, desperately trying to get comfortable. You will admit that the hazy feeling the slime inside it provides is helping you to get tired, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with your sleepy brain. No matter which way you lie on the splaysac, something always feels off. Currently your arms are angled outwards like wings, which is not very comfortable. It is, however, slightly better than having your entire head dangling off the sopor-filled cushion, which came with the last position you tried. Your name is Baizli Soleil, and the split recuperacoon you share with your twin is currently out of commission. A leaking recuperacoon isn’t much help for any of its intended purposes, those being sleeping and not making a mess everywhere.

  
This means the two of you have been forced to sleep on splaysacs for a while, and you fucking hate it. Not many trolls have a need for a split recuperacoon, so if you wanted a replacement you’d need to have one custom-made. Better to just wait for the broken one to be repaired. Barzum seems to be coping decently. They’re sleeping on a purple splaysac not far from yours, and they have apparently achieved the perfect position, curled up in the middle of it so that they won’t fall and none of their body parts are dangling. You tried emulating their position, but you just can’t get comfortable with your knees pressing into your face. Obviously, this has to mean Barzum isn’t actually related to you, and is in fact an alien who was implanted into your egg as an embryo, like those parasitic birds that lay their eggs in the nests of other birds. This is truly the most logical explanation for why you can’t get comfortable in the same position they can.

  
You roll over, making a noise halfway between a growl and a groan as you adjust your position so that you are hugging the splaysac with your legs dangling onto the ground. You’re so sleep deprived that you think your twin is an alien! Besides, even if your theory was true, who’s to say that you aren’t the alien? Actually, scratch that, you definitely aren’t the alien. You know this because you aren’t the one who sleeps like a meowbeast. Only an alien can pull that off.  
“Shut up,” Barzum groans, still curled up, not even raising their head to tell you off.  
“You shut up, I’m thinking,” is your blunt, half-slurred reply.  
“That’s new, what about?” they ask, looking at you with tired, mischievous eyes that clearly say they’re proud of the insult they just flung at you.  
“You’re an alien. So fuck you,” you retort, poking your tongue out at them. They roll their eyes at this.  
“Whatever, we’re all aliens to someone,” they say dismissively, curling back into a ball.

  
You roll over yet again, this time forming an arch, your hands and feet on the ground, your face buried in the rubbery skin of the splaysac. It isn’t comfortable at all. You start emitting a trilling noise from the back of your throat. You sound like a beautiful songbird. Barzum does not seem to agree with you on this.  
“Oh my god Baizli, shut up!” they whine, lifting their head to glare at you. In response, you simply roll off the splaysac and onto the floor, all the while making a strange, strangled noise from the back of your throat. This earns you a growl from your twin.  
“Ruuuude,” you call from behind your splaysac. You can’t see Barzum, but you do hear them get up. Their footsteps are loud, meaning you’ve really stepped in it now, but holy shit you are keen to see what they’ll do. Soon enough they’re looming over you, a very upset expression on their face, their hair slightly ruffled. You give them a shit-eating grin. Barzum gives you a faceful of splaysac, flung at your upper body with the fury of a thousand suns, prompting you to make an indignant squawking noise.  
“That fucking stung, asshole!” you yell past the leathery cushion, skin still tingling with pain from being hit by said leathery cushion with the approximate force of a meteor.  
“Good,” Barzum mutters, and you hear them flop back down on their own splaysac.  
“You are a bastard. That’s your name now. Bastard Soleil,” you tell them, but you get no response. Evidently, sleep is more important to Bastard than acknowledging your amazing insults.

You pull your splaysac down from your head, using it as a makeshift blanket. This is somehow more comfortable than using it for its intended purpose, although not by a whole lot. Oh who are you kidding, no it isn’t. But there’s no way in hell you’re giving Barzum the satisfaction of knowing the discomfort they’ve caused you. Instead of doing the logical thing and going back to a normal position, you instead start gently kneading at the sac, causing it to wobble. Hehe, it looks like jelly. You give it a couple of experimental slaps, and it jiggles even harder. Pfffft. You have no idea why you find this funny, it just is. All it takes is a few more slaps, and you are laughing hysterically out loud.  
“Go to sleeeeeep!” Barzum howls into their splaysac.  
You regain your composure long enough to say “But its jelly!” before dissolving into another laughing fit. Barzum rolls off their splaysac and onto yours in one fluid anger-fuelled movement.  
“Have fun feeling your legs in the evening,” they say in a deadpan tone that screams ‘I’m sick of your shit’ without actually screaming it. In fact, them mentioning your legs gives you an amazing idea that is sure to make them even more sick of your shit.

You allow a grin to creep onto your face, which could have been a warning to your dear twin if they had been paying attention to the troll beneath their resting place. Then, in one explosive movement, you kick your left leg up in the air, sending both the splaysac and your sibling tumbling to the ground.  
“YEET,” you yell as Barzum screeches with confusion and fear before they hit the ground. Thud. They slowly get up into a sitting position, and you do the same, meeting their piercing glare with barely stifled laughter.  
“Baizli, please sleep,” they beg, glare suddenly melting into a pleading gaze.  
“I’m trying!” you reply indignantly. “You know I get restless sometimes.”  
“Yeah. I do. But there is a line between restless and sleep-deprived weirdness and you crossed that line long ago,” they say with a slight growl in their voice.  
“Oh yeah, I guess that would explain why I found the wobblies funny,” you concede, although you can’t help but giggle inwardly at the memory of the way the splaysac jiggled.  
“It was a little funny,” Barzum admits. So it isn’t just you! “Hey, warm milk would probably help you get some sleep,” they offer, tilting their head slightly.  
“Probably would,” you agree.  
“Come on then, let’s make some,” they say, starting to get up to head to the kitchen. You keenly follow them.  
“By the way, what did you mean by calling me an alien?”  
“Honestly? I don’t even really know.”


End file.
